❝ born the second the sun reached the horizon
the castles' very own at night creeping ghost
wears a crown made of roses
its thorns cut her own
slowly torn
healed by the sun of dorne
and deeply mourned
dead or not
a mistery no one every solved. ❞...
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you held your head like a hero on a history book page it was the end of a decade but the start of an age
𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭
✦
𝟏𝟏𝟎 𝐀𝐂
THE HONEYED SUN beamed down to the sea, making its waves glitter as they raged. There was that fresh scent in the air that hinted a summer rain was about to break through, and while most hurried indoors, the King had dispatched a handful of guards to search for his youngest daughter who once again had escaped everyone's eye and was now wandering through the gardens with a book of Targaryen's history that she had indirectly stolen.
A glimpse of silver hair peeked out from between the green leaves of the tree that Daemyria had climbed and now rested on its branch, her back and head leaned comfortably against the trunk. The gentle breeze tickled her skin and her delicate fingers serenely caressed the edge of the book while her violet eyes studied the written words.
She purposely ignored the guards calling her name.
A smile spread across her lips, bright and all so innocent, as the name Daenys Targaryen caught her eye. Daemyria would say that she was by far one of her favorite ancestors. What she found most consistent about her was that she was given the name Daenys the Dreamer due to she her having a dream about the so-called Doom of Valeriya.
It was a fiery tragedy in which dragons fell from the skies, and the once so glorious and rich Valyria was buried in their ashes.
After Daenys had told her father about her prophetic dream, he sold all his belongings and moved his family and five dragons to an island in the Narrow Sea on the east coast of Westeros called Dragonstone.
While a hundred years later Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives had made the Targaryens kings and queens, Daenys the Dreamer was the reason their House hadn't burned with all the other dragonlords.
Daemyria had buried her head so deep in the clouds of ancient history that she didn't notice footsteps approaching.
"You are causing your father quite a bit of trouble, Princess." At the sound of what she recognized as her uncle Daemon's voice, Daemyira's gaze left the pages and she turned her head ever so slightly to look down at him. "I have to say I am enjoying seeing the Court in such distress but it looks like it might start raining soon. You should go."
Daemyria ignored his words and instead tilted her head at him in wonder. "Shouldn't you be in the Vale with your wife?"
Daemon rolled his eyes and squared his broad shoulders in that arrogant and dramatic way that would literally do anything. "With that cunt?" He chuckled as Daemyria scrunched up her nose. "It would be more like lying with a cow than with a woman."
